


The Games of Childhood

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Holtz teaches Connor a new game.





	1. Wanting to be Older

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** \- We all know who they belong to and it ain’t me. I’m just happy Mr. Whedon lets us play with them every so often
> 
> **Time line** \- Technically ATS S3 with that Quor-Toth time dilation
> 
> **Author’s Note** \- This is written for the Behind the Scenes ficathon. The behind the scene I chose is from this scene in _Magic Bullet_  
>  **ANGEL: How old were you when you realized you could track like this?  
>  CONNOR : I don’t know. Five, six. We didn’t exactly celebrate birthdays in Quor-Toth. Holtz made up a game so I could practice.  
> ANGEL : What do you mean he’d hide things for you to find?  
> CONNOR : Kind of. He’d tie me to a tree and then run away** ****
> 
> **Author’s Note 2** \- Thanks to Kat for the beta. This was originally published in 2004 and since it's set in Quor-Toth Connor is called Steven and he's just a child in this.

XXX

CHAPTER ONE

Steven woke, trying not to cry. He shoved a fist against his lips, shaking all over. The dream had been so real. The demons nearly got him. He had smelled the reek of their breath, felt droplets of drool flecking his skin. The demons were so big. The Drani demons made him feel incredibly tiny, both in life and in dreams. He knew the fear he was tasting was dangerous but he couldn’t help it.

Steven shut his eyes, but still all he could see were the Drani demons. He couldn’t stop the trembling that shook him from head to toe. He opened his eyes, glancing once at his father across the room. Father slept soundly. They had taken over a Hisma tree home. Once they had thrown out the Hisma demon’s bedding, and rid the place of its stink, it was more comfortable than the cave they had been living in.

Steven clutched Dover to him, the leather doll stuffed with Saldre fur that he had had as long as the boy could remember. The leather was shiny and worn in spots, and the fur Dover had for hair was patchy from years of being snuggled with. Steven had very few toys and Dover was his favorite, even if Father said he was too big a boy to need Dover anymore.

“Father,” Steven whispered but his father slumbered on. “Father!”

Holtz’s eyes opened. “Steven, what’s wrong?”

“My dreams...” Steven didn’t know how to explain it. He never did when his dreams were haunted. He tried to explain on past nights about his bad dreams. Father always said they couldn’t hurt him and he was too old to be afraid of them. “Can I stay with you?”

Holtz nodded, and Steven gathered up his bedding and Dover. He made a nest of the bedding next to his father and snuggled up, bunching his furred blanket around him and Dover. Holtz dropped his arm around Steven, holding the boy close. “You’re getting to be a big boy now, Steven, almost six. You’re getting too old to be running to me when you have a bad dream.”

“I know, Father.” Steven trembled, afraid he’d be banished back to his side of the room. “Just tonight.”

Holtz rubbed Steven’s back. “For tonight, but you have to learn to be brave, Steven.”

“Yes, Father,” the boy replied not really wanting to be brave all the time. Sometimes he just wanted his father to take care of him. Sometimes he didn’t like growing up.

 

X X X

“The larder’s getting empty,” Holtz said, opening the backpack that carried most of their food supply. He handed a strip of smoked meat to Steven.

The boy munched contentedly, the strong muscles of his little jaw working. Steven turned his face into the wind, breathing deep. He sifted through the scents then pointed. “That way. Rock Hoppers.”

Holtz nodded, happy with that news. The slow-witted creatures reminded Holtz of deer in looks and almost in taste. One Hopper, properly smoked, would last them weeks. “Can you take me there, Steven?”

Steven breathed deeply. This would be easy. Their scent was strong. Tracking them would be easier than the game Father had made up for him to practice. Holtz had taken to hiding bits of clothing or weaponry near the home for Steven to sniff out. Keeping silent count to mark the time, Holtz tracked Steven’s progress as his skills honed. He received little rewards for it. His favorite was honey. Father said the bluish viscous liquid they found in the nests of the Reeciyres, a little buzzing creature, tasted something like honey of home and thus named it so. It was very sweet and favored by Rock Hoppers and Steven alike.

They readied for a hunting trip, and Steven led the way to the valley between two rocky outcroppings. They needed to get to the Rock Hoppers before the creatures could get to the rocks. Father couldn’t follow them there. Holtz waved Steven forward. The boy would scare the Hoppers and try to steer them toward Father. It was easy to do. The rush that came with stalking his prey, the feel of the weapon in his hand, the smell of blood, the sense of satisfaction after the kill, everything about hunting appealed to the boy. It was his favorite thing to do.

Steven kept to the high grasses and shrubbery. He had his knife at the ready just in case one of the Hoppers decided to dart at him instead of the other direction like they were supposed to. Steven looked to see if Father was ready. He saw Holtz standing, his bow arched back awaiting his target. Oh, how Steven coveted that bow. He wanted one of his own, but Father maintained he was still too small. Steven argued long and bitterly and eventually got paddled for being too willful. He couldn’t sit comfortably for two days afterwards.

He popped up, screaming loudly. The horned quadrupeds bellowed and bolted. There was no way he could control all of them but he didn’t need to do that. All he really needed was to get a handful of them to go in Father’s direction and make sure he, himself, kept out of range of the arrows. Steven concentrated on a particularly fat one, driving her hard into Father’s range.

Steven was rewarded by the sound of the bowstring and seeing the plump Hopper fall. She was still struggling to get up when he raced to her side. Managing to avoid her horns, Steven grabbed one horn, away from the sharp end, putting a foot on her shoulder. Jerking her head back by the horn, he bent down and slit her throat, standing out of the arterial spray. She stopped struggling almost immediately. He waited proudly for Holtz to make his way to their kill.

“She’s so big, Father!” Steven bopped up and down, thrilled.

Holtz smiled and ruffled Steven’s hair. “Indeed she is. Well done.” Holtz tied a stout rope to the dead creature and started dragging it back to their encampment.

Steven fell in step with him. He took a mental measure of himself against his father. Holtz had promised him a bow as soon as his head reached Father’s hip. He was so close to being tall enough, Steven could feel the bow in his hands. He got up on tip toes as he trotted and measured by hand. Father looked down at him, bemused.

“What are you up to, son?”

“I’m big enough now, Father! I can have a bow.” Steven grinned.

Holtz laughed and put a hand on Steven’s head. He forced the boy to go flat-footed. “Almost, son, but not quite.”

Steven’s chin jutted out. “But Father!”

“You’re still too little,” Holtz said more sternly.

Steven pouted and tramped ahead of his father until Holtz whistled him back. He gave his son a look that Steven knew well as a warning. It didn’t stop him from sulking all the way back. He tossed himself to the grass and watched Father string up the Hopper. Usually Steven helped haul but he was mad, so he sat there, cross-armed, glaring.

“Do you want to dress out the Hopper, Steven?” Holtz glanced back at him.

Steven pushed his lip out further but got up.

“You do the belly. I’ll open the chest once I get the fire started,” Holtz said.

Once Father was occupied with setting the fire to smoke the meat, Steven hopped up and buried his knife in the cartilage between rib and breast bone, and sliced down with all his strength. Blood oozed as intestines pushed out. “See Father? I’m big enough to do it all by myself.” He gestured to the carcass with his blade.

Holtz turned, in a squat over the fire ring. “Enough, Steven. I said you’re not big enough to draw a bow yet.”

“I am, too.” Steven stomped his foot.

Holtz raised an eyebrow. “Steven, do I need to send you to cut yourself a switch?”

Steven’s lips trembled. His backside twinged at the memory of the last paddling. “No, Father.”

“I didn’t think so.” Holtz’s eyes hardened just a hint. “If you’re the big boy you’re saying you are, you can start taking out the sweetmeats.”

Steven tore out the organs with a vengeance, surrendering them to Father for cooking. He didn’t get any honey because Father didn’t like his attitude. That night Steven tried dangling himself by the ankles out of their tree home while holding a shirt full of rocks to stretch himself to gain that precious bit of height he needed. In the end, when he wouldn’t come inside and behave, he had to cut the switch.

 


	2. The Game

CHAPTER TWO 

“Father! Watch!” Steven flipped on the stout tree branch above where Father worked on the weapons.

“Yes, yes, Steven that’s very good,” Holtz said without looking up.

“You weren’t watching,” Steven whined. “Look!” He did a few more flips on the branch but even as Holtz told him it was good, he knew his father hadn’t even looked up. Steven grabbed the branch and shook it hard, raining seed pods down on his father.

Holtz looked up, irritation in his eyes but that didn’t faze his son. “Yes, Steven, what is it?”

“Watch what I can do.” Steven tumbled some more on the branch.

“You’re like a cat.” Holtz smiled. “That’s very good, Steven. Please come down here now.”

Steven jumped off the branch, tucked in, spinning head over heels before landing.

“I’m quite sure you’ll give me an attack sooner or later doing that.” Holtz smiled again. “One day you’ll misstep and break your neck.”

“I won’t,” Steven assured him. “Can’t break me. I have more to show you. Watch now.”

“Later, Steven.” Holtz waved him off. “We’ve work to do. Have you sharpened your knife recently?”

The boy bobbed his head and took it from its sheath, offering it to his father for inspection.

Holtz gently tested it with his thumb. “Very good. Is your larder full?”

Steven jumped back up into their tree home and grabbed the little backpack from his bed side. After the last hopper they had killed, Father had fashioned him the pack complete with water skin hanging from it. He was exceptionally proud of his pack. It meant Father trusted him to be a big boy and take care of the food. He presented it for inspection as well. It was chocked full of smoked hopper, dried fruits and nuts.

“Excellent.” Holtz started rearranging the larder, squeezing in more smoked game and nuts. He even put in a little jar of honey fashioned from a tough seed pod. Steven eyed the honey greedily but soon became bored with the inspection. He started practicing his acrobatics once more.

“Father, watch!” He took a running started and executed a few no-hand cartwheels.

“You’re getting very good at that, son.” Holtz waved him over. “But I have a new game for you to play.”

Steven jogged over, his body all but trembling from the excess energy he had to burn. “A new game?” He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

Holtz indicated a place by the cook fire. “Sit.”

Steven sat cross-legged, bouncing his knees impatiently. “Is it a good game?”

“It’s an important game,” Holtz replied, and Steven cocked his head, pondering that. “It’s like the game where you find things I’ve hidden.”

“I’m good at that.” Steven’s eyes danced as he smiled widely.

Holtz returned the smile more sedately. “Yes, you are. You’ve gotten so good, we’re going to try a new version of it. I’m going to hide something, and it will be hard for you to find it but you can’t give up until you do.”

“I don’t give up.” Steven matched his father’s serious tone.

“No, you don’t, do you? I’ll be keeping track of how long it takes you but you have to promise me this, Steven, that you’re big and brave enough to do this, even if it becomes frightening.” Holtz seemed suddenly sad.

It confused Steven. Why would Father look so unhappy about a game? “Games aren’t scary.”

“This one will be.” Holtz took Steven’s knife, laying it by the backpack.

Steven pushed out his chin. “I’m not scared.”

“Good boy.” Holtz ruffled his hair then took out a piece of cloth. Steven looked at it, more confused. He had found bits of cloth many times already. Nothing was scary about them. Suddenly his father wrapped the cloth over his eyes, blinding him. Holtz knotted the blindfold tightly, catching Steven’s hair in it. He yelped and reached for it. Holtz gently slapped his fingers. “Leave it, Steven.”

“But I don’t like this.”

“Did you not just promise me you were big enough and wouldn’t be scared?” Holtz asked, and Steven subsided unhappily. He didn’t like this game. He felt something going around his wrists, and started squirming, realizing his father was tying him up. “Do not fight me, Steven.”

“No!” Steven whined, not sure what was happening. Had he made Father mad? Was this a punishment? No, Father said it was a game and he didn’t lie. The ropes hurt, though, especially when Father tied him off to a tree. Steven couldn’t help kicking nervously when Holtz grabbed his feet and got swatted for his trouble.

Once his feet were tied together, Holtz leaned close, “The game is you have to find me, Steven. I’ll be what is hidden.”

“No, Father!” Steven felt panic rising in him. “Don’t leave me!”

“You have to be brave now, Steven. This is important. You know how to track. You’ll find me.” Holtz kissed Steven’s cheek. “I love you, son. I know you can do this.”

Steven cried out his protestations again but Father said nothing. Steven hushed, knowing noise could lure in the demon. He no longer heard Father and soon the winds cleared of his scent. He was alone. Fear swallowed him up. How could Father just leave him? Didn’t he know how much Steven needed him? He trembled a little, tied too tightly to truly shake. He wanted to sob and beg his father to come back but he knew Father wouldn’t, not until Steven played the game.

Biting back his terror, Steven tested his bonds. His hands throbbed painfully and his legs were cramping. He couldn’t get free. Steven scraped his face on the tree, ignoring the malicious bite of the bark. He kept it up until he wiggled the blindfold off. Even though he knew Father was gone, he looked for him. Giving up on that, Steven surveyed the knots. Tying-up games were a favorite of his. Father would tie him up and time his escapes. Steven hadn’t liked them at first, just like he didn’t care for this new game but Father insisted they were important in case a demon ever caught him. Steven needed to know how to get away. He had become very good at getting out of ropes and came to like the game.

He wasn’t going to like this new one; he was sure of it. It was nearly dark by the time he freed his hands. His fingers were swollen and blue and had gone all tingly. They barely worked as he tried to get his feet free. He forced those numb digits to work because he had to pee so bad he thought he’d burst, and he didn’t want to go all over himself. He tried to get up but his feet were fat and asleep and his ankles kept giving out. Steven managed to get to his knees and peed downhill away from himself.

He waited for his hands and feet to stop throbbing so bad before going into the tree house. Now he understood why Father wanted to be sure his knife was sharp and his larder full. He’d need them both if he was going to be all alone in the Quor-Tothian woods. The mere thought made Steven quake. He was too little for this. He should never have begged for the bow so much. Father thought he was bigger than he really was.

Steven picked up his blanket and tried to figure out an easy way to carry it. He tied it around his neck like a cape. He wanted to carry more stuff but he couldn’t. He just wasn’t big enough. He picked up Dover and tucked the worn leather toy into his belt. He knew Father said he was too old for toys like this but he had had Dover all his life. He couldn’t leave him behind. Dover would help him be brave especially if the bad dreams came for him while Father was gone.

Steven jumped out of the tree, his blanket fluttering behind him. He scooped up his knife and his backpack before turning his face into the wind. He caught Holtz’s faint scent and started off into the gathering fog, more terrified now than ever before.

 

X X X

Steven stifled a sob. He had been so excited to catch a strong hint of Father’s scent that he had scurried across a rock face too fast. He didn’t know how far he had fallen, but it seemed like forever. He squashed his larder back pack and lost his blanket. Dover broke stitches on the way down, and Steven’s ankle was red and swollen.

Luckily the backpack didn’t explode, his blanket landed not far from him, and he hadn’t landed on his own knife. Steven tested his ankle, which was already looking less fat and ugly. He looked at the cliff he had just tumbled down, and realized it would be very dark by the time he got to the top; if he got to the top.

Steven looked at the shrubbery and the rocks, trying to decide where to stay the night. He couldn’t hold back the quake that overtook him thinking about spending the night alone. He’d never been alone before, and he didn’t want to be now either. The fear crept into his heart on tiny feet as he discovered no signs of a cave he could shelter in. There was nothing to do for it so he spent the remainder of the fading sunlight tying up tree branches to build a blind against the rock face. The winds were picking up. He’d need the shelter.

Steven couldn’t risk an exposed fire. He was too afraid of what demons it might lure in, curious about the flames. Father wasn’t here to help him fight. He knew he was getting big enough that he didn’t need Father’s help, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Steven munched on smoked hopper and a handful of nuts. He took very little of his water. He didn’t know when he might find more.

There was just enough light left to dig in the utility pack on his belt to find his bone needle and some thread he had twisted from the Secnon plant so Father could make them clothes. Steven darned the little hole in Dover. His beloved toy fixed, Steven went outside of his shelter and softly called, “Father, I can’t find you. Please. I’m afraid to be here alone.”

The only answer was the harsh shriek of a Tejag, a more or less harmless bird-like thing. Steven called out again, more earnestly then gave up, fearing he was attracting attention he didn’t want. Steven curled up in his blanket, clutching Dover to his cheek. As it sank in that he wouldn’t see Father tonight, or maybe for many nights, Steven wept piteously against Dover. What if the demons came for him? What if he really wasn’t big enough? Would Father be mad if he just went back to their home and didn’t look for him? Steven wished he knew what to do, and, when the Tejags seemed to get closer and closer to his hiding spot, he cried harder. They might be harmless but whatever was pushing them into dangerous night flights was probably very dangerous. Steven drew his knife and waited, too afraid to sleep, too young to fight it for long.

 


	3. The Cave

CHAPTER THREE 

 

Steven started up the cliff as the sky progressed from bloody-black to its usual red. He nibbled at the fruits in his pack and took a lick of honey as his own reward for spending a night alone. Judging by how faint Father’s scent was by the time Steven got to the top of the cliff, Father had to be very far away.

Steven went as fast as he could without wasting his strength. He knew he had a long way to go, and his little legs couldn’t really keep up with Father’s stride. If he started running, he’d get tired and would have to rest, and Father would get even further ahead. By the time he started looking for a new place to spend the night, his feet ached, his legs burning from his non-stop march through the woods.

Another night alone, he hated the idea. This time he did find a cave but he didn’t dare just wander in. It might be home to something else and it would be too dark to see inside. It was easy in this area of Quor-Toth to find tar. The sticky, smelly stuff bubbled to the surface. Sometimes creatures got stuck in the vast pits. Steven assumed those were the dumb ones or ones that had no sense of smell or possibly they were running too fast and couldn’t avoid it.

Steven plunged a few thick limbs into the tar, spinning them until he collected blobs on the end then headed for the cave. He set them down at the mouth and got out his tinderbox. With the flint, he set the tar of one aflame, nudging his spare torches into the cave with a toe. Steven unsheathed his knife and began to check out his new resting spot. The last thing he needed was to find himself sharing the cave with a demon.

There were plenty of smells but he wasn’t sure how old some of them were. The smoky, stinking light of his torch cast sick shadows on the stone walls. The torch smoke interfered with his delicate sense of smell. There was some old spoor and some crunched bones in the cavern but nothing fresh. He bent down and sniffed and listened at all the passageways that lead deeper into the cave. He heard nothing, smelled nothing but damp. This was a very wet cave so he didn’t want to go deeper. He’d only get muddy and chilled. In this area he could find tar-filled caverns, or ones filled with water which usually was as good and crisp as any he could hope to find on the surface, or he could find wet, slick rocks that could send him sprawling, possibly to his death.

Steven was too afraid to go down into the absolute darkness alone and explore more thoroughly. If he dropped his torch, he’d never get back out because no light penetrated that deep. There was no way to see. His only hope would be to track his own scent back out, and he didn’t want to be there in the dark, sniffing along, waiting for a blind cave demon to home in on his heat and eat him before he knew it was there. Steven decided the cave was worth the risk. One of the big winds was picking up outside. Quor-Toth was often ravaged by winds strong enough to blow Father over, not to mention trees and structures that demons built. Steven didn’t stand a chance against them. He had to have a place to shelter. The cave appeared empty so this was going to have to do.

While the winds were still reasonable, Steven went out to gather firewood and kindling. He lucked into a Levo demon, a small, harmless creature that father likened to squirrels. They were usually juicy and delicious. Though he would never admit it to Father, Steven hated the taste of organ meat. He knew the necessity of eating everything but now that he was alone and had no time to smoke anything, he couldn’t possibly eat all of the little creature so he could toss away the disgusting organs. Steven dressed out the creature, tossing all the organs off the cliff face several hundred yards from his cave. No sense in leaving a gut pile to attract attention and so long as he didn’t have to eat the organs he could care less what became of them.

He started a small fire, listening to the winds beginning to howl outside. They siphoned his fire smoke right out of the entrance, which was a good thing. He didn’t like to have his eyes burning and blurry just in case something bad happened. He munched a handful of nuts while turning the spit he had fashioned to roast his dinner.

When the skin was crispy and golden, Steven tore into the demon meat, voraciously. His little belly had been growling through most of the cook time. Juices played over his tongue. How much better was fresh meat over smoked? Despite his assumptions that he couldn’t eat it all, Steven gobbled it up except a leg that he wrapped in leaves for breakfast. His strong teeth cracked the long bones so he could suck the marrow free. Dinner over, he licked his hands clean then banked the fire to last much of the night.

In spite of his excellent repast and being safe from the winds, Steven still hated being alone like this. However, he was also proud of himself for doing so well on his lonesome. He didn’t expect to do good and Father would have to come find him instead of the other way around. He couldn’t give up now because, even though he was proud of himself, he was still scared, and he hadn’t found any signs of Father doubling back to check on him. Father was moving on and expected him to follow.

Steven curled up with Dover, wishing to hear one of Father’s stories, even if it was the one about Utah again. He just wanted to hear Father’s voice, smell his comforting scent. Steven brushed his cheek against the tatty fur of Dover’s head. His toy didn’t make him feel any less lonely or scared.

Steven dropped off in spite of his fears and the raging winds. He woke with a start. He had been having bad dreams again, and as he reached for Father, he found no one there. His lips trembled as reality pierced his sleep-fogged brain. Then the hissing sound from his dream happened again. Steven’s eyes scanned the room, barely illuminated by the dying embers.

Did something move along the far wall? He got up slowly and edged another tarred torch into the fire. As it caught with a smoky flare, he saw a scaled demon, pulling itself up from the depths of the cave. It hissed, dragging the rest of its bulk free from the hole. It must live deeper than Steven had explored.

The boy’s heart pounded. The thing was so big, longer than Father was tall. Its nails clicked on stone as it stalked toward him. A forked tongue flickered out, testing the air. It lunged for Steven who thrust the torch out to meet that charge. As the thing backed off, growling in pain, Steven went for his knife. He’d have to get closer than he wanted to in order to use it. Oh, to have Father’s bow now.

Waving the torch in front of him, Steven hoped to just drive the thing off. It whirled away, running through Steven’s bedding, its talons tearing into the furs. The boy charged its back, and its thick tail caught him in the gut. Steven flew through the air, bounced off the stone wall and ricocheted out the entrance. His breath was gone and his shoulder ached and burned. He could smell his own blood.

Steven tried to stand up but the winds kept shoving him down. He had lost the torch but he had a death grip on his dagger. The demon rushed him. The boy struggled to get up before the gnashing jaws caught him. Teeth grazed his leg. Biting back a cry of pain, Steven got to his feet in time to get buffeted back to the ground by the winds. The demon leapt on him. Steven managed to get his feet up and into the thing’s belly, keeping it off of him. He stabbed wildly as the demon tried to bite off a hunk of him.

Steven kicked upwards, arcing the thing over his head. That wasn’t where he wanted it to go. If it turned before he could move, it would have his skull in its mouth. No attack came. A howl of pain echoed just after a meaty thud. Steven rolled onto his belly, trying to shield his eyes from the dirt blowing into them from the storm. He realized, his heart near to bursting with terror, that he was at the very lip of the cliffs. The demon was on its way all the way to the bottom. He could only hope the fall killed it.

Unable to get to his feet in the winds, Steven belly crawled back into the cavern and stoked up the fire until it was roaring. He didn’t care if he was wasting wood. He had no desire to try and sleep in a dark cave. There could be more demons. The one he had sent over the cliff might come back. His mind came up with many terrible scenarios. Steven sat on his bedding, which was torn. He got out his kit and took out the materials Father used for poultices and bandages. Steven managed to staunch the bleeding from where the thing had bitten him. If it was venomous, he was dead already, but it didn’t look bad, and he felt okay except for the pain in his back and shoulders. There was no way he could fix up the cuts from hitting the stone, shoulders first.

Steven huddled near his fire, knowing there would be no sleeping tonight. He searched the bedding for Dover. He saw the demon’s claws had nearly severed Dover’s head. Steven burst into tears, cradling his doll. Finally, when the fear ebbed, he shoved the stuffing back into Dover and started to lovingly stitch up his torn friend.

 


	4. Finding Father

CHAPTER FOUR 

Steven paused near a stream to drink. The water tasted like sulfur, not that he was surprised. The air was ripe with tar fumes from the pits, but more importantly Father’s scent was strong here. He had been looking for Father for over a week. He was so tired that he just wanted to collapse and drift off to dream. But sleep didn’t come easily because every time he laid down, he was reminded he was a little boy alone but Father might only be a day ahead of him now, maybe less. He was finally feeling hope.

Steven’s skin itched horribly. He was covered with dirt and sweat. His food supply was nearly out, even with how carefully he rationed it. He hadn’t wanted to take too much time to hunt and risk losing Father’s scent. The horrible windstorm had already cost him a lot of time. By the time he could travel, Father’s scent was totally gone. Panicked, Steven ran in the direction he had been heading before the storm started, praying that Father had to hole up, just as he had. Finally, he came back across the trail and the game continued.

Steven hated this game. It was too hard, and he was too small. His feet hurt so much that he cried as he walked. Every night the stars found him popping blisters from all the walking. By morning, he’d be half-healed but his feet were still sore and always re-blistered. His back was numb from carrying the pack so far but it was getting easier now that he was nearly out of food.

Steven took a deep breath in, grimacing against the acrid bite of the sulfur. Father was close. He wondered if Father was hurting as much as he was. No, of course not. Father was big. He could handle this. Steven picked up the scent and started on his way. Maybe he’d find Father today.

The sun was high when suddenly a shadow fell over him. Steven crouched instinctively, which was the only thing that saved him from the claws that reached for him. He dove out of the way. It was a Daydeif, a flying demon that could pick up Rock Hoppers and carry them off. Steven, as little as he was, would be a tasty morsel for it.

He ran for the tree-line. The Daydeif would have trouble following him there, where it couldn’t maneuver easily. This demon was younger, smaller and obviously hungry. It didn’t get easily discouraged. It came after Steven, darting in and out of the trees. Steven ran blindly. He didn’t have a good way of attacking an aerial demon. The ground sloped down suddenly and a blast of hot, sulfurous air slammed into Steven. Before he knew what was happening, his feet were in a tar pit and he was sinking fast.

Panicking, the boy flailed around and caught the one thing at hand, the clawed foot of the Daydeif. The startled demon whooped and climbed high, yanking Steven out of the tar, leaving his boots behind. Steven had no idea what to do now. He was so high above the ground. The Daydeif seemed equally confused as it flew on, not sure if it had its prey or vice versa.

The tar pits disappeared behind them as the Daydeif soared over some cliffs. Beyond them was a huge body of water that Steven had never seen before. There was no end to it that he could spot. There was a small stone hut, a curl of smoke coming from its chimney. That was the last thing he needed, should he even get down, another demon making its home here. Some were as intelligent as he and Father and built whole villages that father and son tried desperately to avoid.

The Daydeif dove and Steven realized it was trying to dash him to death on the rocks. He let go with one hand and stabbed upwards with his dagger. The demon screamed, ichor flowing everywhere, blowing into Steven’s eyes. They both started crashing to ground. Steven let go and did what he had been practicing so recently under Father’s not-so-watchful eye. He twisted and tumbled mid-air and landed on his feet, which were bare now. The sand near the water’s edge cut him. He stumbled forward, sand abrading the skin of his face and outstretched arms.

Screaming, the Daydeif thrashed in the water, one wing obviously broken. Steven scrambled up and stabbed it to death, putting it out of its misery. Panting hard, the water salty and burning his raw skin, Steven caught something in the wind. Father’s scent, good and strong. He ran towards it, even though it was taking him towards the hut. Father’s was the only scent around.

“Father!” he screamed. “Father!”

Holtz was already out of the hut, armed and heading his way. The sounds of the demon’s death had to have lured him out of the stone hut. Holtz lowered his bow and sprinted towards Steven. “You did it, son. You found me.”

Steven couldn’t speak. He launched himself at Holtz, wrapping his arms and legs around the startled man’s torso. He buried his face against Father’s chest, weeping uncontrollably. Holtz dropped the crossbow and embraced Steven tightly.

“Shh, son, it’s all right.” He patted Steven’s back.

“No, you left me!” Steven wailed.

“And you found me. You did wonderfully.” Holtz kissed Steven’s forehead.

Steven tightened his grip. “Never leave me again.”

“Shh, Steven, enough’s enough,” Holtz chided, trying unsuccessfully to pry his son off of him. “You’re fine, and you did a great job.”

“No,” Steven sobbed then dissolved into piteous tears, unable to catch his breath for all the crying.

Holtz just carried him back to the hut and lay him on the bedding, soft straw or some such. Steven didn’t care. He had found his father and had no intention of letting him go. “Steven, where are your boots?”

“I fell in a tar pit.” Steven wiped his nose on his sleeve. “The Daydeif pulled me out.”

“Yes, I can imagine why.” Holtz examined Steven’s feet, making clucking noises. “You are quite a mess.”

“It was so hard, Father.” Steven started telling him about all the hardships and demons he encountered as he tracked Holtz down.

His father put a finger to his lips, shushing him. Holtz sent him out to the water’s edge, naked, to wash up, having given him something astringent that Father said would dissolve the tar stuck to him. The waves knocked Steven down several times before he learned not to turn his back to them. Shivering, Steven went back in to find his clothing wet and hanging by the fire to dry. Father dressed his feet and other injuries with warm poultices that Steven really didn’t need since he healed so fast but they felt and smelled good. Father wrapped him up in several furs and made him lie down to rest.

As Holtz went to leave, Steven screamed, holding out a hand. “Don’t leave me!”

Holtz’s lips thinned. “I’m going to fish, Steven. I’ll just be outside.”

“No! You’ll leave me!”

“You’re being trying, Steven,” Holtz scolded, his eyes narrowing. “You need sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steven started to cry again.

“Steven, enough of this nonsense.” Holtz snapped, stabbing a finger at him. “I’m very proud of how well you played the game. You proved you’re far too old to behave this childishly.”

Steven buried his face in the bedding, shaking all over. He extended a trembling hand towards his pack. “Give me Dover, please.”

Holtz eyed him sourly but got the doll out of Steven’s pack. “You brought this silly thing with you?”

“He kept me company.” Steven’s jaw set, meeting his father’s eyes levelly.

“You’re too old for such things.” Holtz looked ready to toss the doll out the door.

Steven got up and took his doll from his father. He flung himself back on the bed. “He didn’t leave me alone.”

“He’s a scrap of leather, Steven. He doesn’t do anything,” Holtz grumbled.

Steven ignored his father, wrapping himself up with Dover, not looking at Holtz. Why was Father being so harsh? Didn’t he understand how afraid he had been? Holtz didn’t say anything more, going outside. Steven let him go, curling up on his new bed, letting his exhaustion rule.

That night he ate peckishly and listened to Father tell him again how well he played the game. Steven insisted on two stories before bed and Father obliged, seeming as happy to be able to tell them as Steven was to hear them. He had a nightmare of dying in tar that made him wake up screaming. Father didn’t protest as Steven curled up in his bed. He clung to Father for dear life as he tumbled back to sleep.

Steven woke to the smells of a stew of meat and berries. It smelled so good and he ate so heartily that Father was well pleased because he was always fretting Steven didn’t eat enough. Father even gave him a big dollop of honey as a treat.

“I have something for you, Steven, as a reward for how well you played the game.” Father smiled at him.

Steven’s eyes brightened as he licked the last of the honey from his fingers. “Yes, Father?”

Holtz took out a small bow from a pile of leathers he had been working into new boots for Steven. “For you. I think you’re big enough now.”

Steven leapt up and grabbed the bow. He gave the string an experimental pull. “It’s wonderful!”

“I knew you’d like it. Now, it’ll take a lot of practice but I think we’ll be safe enough here for some time. Certainly enough for you to get better with it,” Holtz said, in his ‘lessons to learn’ voice.

“Thank you, Father.” Steven embraced his new weapon.

“After all your troubles with this game, I’m sure you’ll find the bow very helpful for the next time we play,” Holtz said.

Steven’s jaw dropped. “Play again? But Father...”

“We’re playing the game again, Steven.” Holtz wagged a finger at him. “You need to get better at it. It took you a long time to find me.”  
Steven’s lower lip trembled. “But it was so hard.”

“That is why we must play again.”

Steven looked at his bow, tears brimming in his eyes. Suddenly his new weapon didn’t seem so exciting.

“Don’t worry, Steven. You’ll get very good at it, very fast. You always do.” Holtz gave him a quick embrace. “Shall we start your first archery lesson?”

Steven nodded his head without enthusiasm. He didn’t want to play the game again. He didn’t want to be alone ever again. He knew there was no choice. Father was right. He’d have to get good and fast. It was the only way not to be alone in this place Father called hell. Steven steeled himself. He would be good. He could play this game. After all, games only lasted as long as childhood, and he was growing up fast. Soon, childhood would be gone, and he needed to prepare to be the man he’d become. Father said there were important things he had to do then, back on Earth once he was a man. Steven would be ready, even if he was afraid. He would just have to use his fear to make himself strong.

Bow in hand, he followed his father out into the red light of day, content to be a boy for just a little longer.


End file.
